


Would You Have Married Me?

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, it's a fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 05:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11799390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The band was smooth, a rose gold studded with rubies around one half. It was gorgeous, everything Tony didn't know he wanted. It fit perfectly, so perfectly, as if it was meant to be right where it was, on Tony's left ring finger. Tony fell in love and then loudly, so forcefully it came out as a scream of agony, he fell apart.





	Would You Have Married Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of artingkrusca's post on tumblr  
> "some sorta CACW au where steve & tony were (secretly?) dating and steve was gonna propose to tony"

_So no matter what, I promise if you — if you need us. If you need me, I’ll be there._

_Steve_

 

Tony fiddled with the phone in his pocket, flipping it open, then closed. Open, closed.  The act was grounding in a way clicking a pen wasn't. If it was so that the phone made less of an infuriating noise when Tony played with it, then that was a plus to those in the room. 

It was a press conference, though closed off from the public eyes. Tony liked that. It was nothing but him and a bunch of people that didn't give a shit about him. He could handle people that didn't give a shit about him. Easy. He schmoozed his way through crowds of thousands with a smile which, in case one doesn't know, is roughly equivalent to walking through hell and back.  _Thousands_ of people screaming his name, in a positive light or negative, with compliments or insults. The faces blended together. Tony didn't remember names. He didn't remember anything he didn't have to.

But he remembered Clint's favorite coffee. It was generic and bland, but Clint liked it. He remembered that Natasha used a two inch curler rather than the more popular 1 1/2 inch. He remembered that Bruce and Thor listened to the same songs when they were together. He remembered every detail he could scrounge up about Steve. The lilt of his laugh and the lightness of his voice, the accent he'd let slip when it was just him and Tony. He remembered the way Steve's hand felt roaming over his skin and the way he kissed Tony's neck. 

The  _"I love you"_. The dreaded "Do you want kids?" conversation. The dumb, cute, couple-y things they'd do when they thought no one was around, and the dumb, cute, couple-y things they'd do when they  _knew_ people  _were_ around.

Tony Stark remembered every bit of Steve Rogers. God, how he wanted to forget.

 

And he did, temporarily, when he was snapped back into reality by the uproar of questioning as soon as the reporters were allowed to speak.

"Mr. Stark, can you speak more about the Sokovia relief funding you're doing?"

"Mr. Stark, do you have any clue as to where the Avengers might be?"

"Mr. Stark, what finally pushed you to remove your chestpiece?"

Tony ignored most of the questions. They were either already answered or never going to be. But there was a woman who stood apart from the rest, hair blonde and eyes blue. She'd been in Tony's bed once. She'd been a thorn in Tony's shoe many more times.

"Christine Everhart," Tony greeted. "I see you're no longer writing for... Vogue, was it?"

"Vanity Fair," she quipped back. "I'm representing WHiH World News. But you already knew that."

"Yeah, I have a television. Twelve, actually, on one floor. You'd love it."

"I'd love a statement, Mr. Stark."

"Why so formal? We're friends, right?" Tony leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk in front of him. "Anything for you, gorgeous. Let's call it a word association game. You say something, I'll tell you the first thing that comes to mind."

"Mr. Stark, six months ago, you were asked to sign the Sokovia Accords. Some of your team didn't, and they ended up... somewhere. But some of your team did. What are they doing now?"

"Avengers mission statement. Save people. If you can't, avenge them. Easy. Next."

"So, the rebels ended up somewhere. Where?"

"Christine, do you think they speak to me? Do you think they'd tell me?"

It was a sore subject.

It would never stop being a sore subject.

But Tony put on a fake smile and he soldiered through, all the while flipping the phone open and closed in his pocket. Open and closed.

 

When he got back to the tower, he was exhausted, and rightfully so. He reached the penthouse and immediately kicked his shoes off, ignoring the still packed boxes as he passed them. He'd move them to the new compound soon enough. He just... couldn't seem to let go of this place. He tried, he really did.

He stripped himself of his suit on his way to the bathroom, stretching languidly as he set his phone on the marble countertop. While he washed his face and fixed his hair, he listened to the voicemails Happy forwarded to him.

_"Mr. Stark, here's my report for the night! I stopped a, uh, grand theft bicycle. Oh, I helped this old lady and she bought me a churro."_

Tony smiled, tired and sad. But it was a smile nonetheless.

_"So... That was nice."_

He turned the water on for a shower, running his hand under it as it warmed. FRIDAY helpfully chimed in that the voicemail was over just a few minutes later, and that there were no more to be listened to. With a sigh, Tony stepped into the shower, the water cascading over olive skin and letting his muscles relax for the first time all day. It was calming. There was nothing more than the sound of water drops on porcelain.

 

Tony got out of the shower an hour and a half later, after the water was cold and the pads of his fingers were wrinkled. He wrapped himself in a soft bathrobe, too lazy to put on actual clothes, and headed off to bed. But the phone in his hands, for the first time in six months, felt heavy.  _Would_ they speak to him? Would Steve? Tony hadn't slept well even for a night since they left, and he always just assumed... it would fix itself eventually. It  _had to,_ because the Avengers were  _family._ The Avengers didn't belong to anyone like Steve wrote in his stupid fucking letter, the Avengers were a congregation of people who respected and loved each other. People who wouldn't turn their backs on one another.

But it didn't feel that way. He felt alone. He felt more alone than he'd ever felt in his life.

He was moving to a place where there would be no sign that anyone else had ever lived with him. Tony hadn't even thought to bring Steve's dumb little monkey drawing along.

Tony dragged himself out of bed, picking the flip phone up off of the counter as he walked out of the penthouse. The elevator took him to Steve's floor without him even having to press a button. FRIDAY knew. FRIDAY always knew.

 

He pushed open the door with a heavy sinking feeling in his heart. It was exactly as he'd left it before, so many months ago. The phone wouldn't ring. Tony knew the phone wouldn't ring. Because it was for  _Tony_ to call  _Steve,_ for  _Tony_ to come crying back to him. For Tony to admit that he needed Steve while Steve played the hero again, and again, and a-fucking-gain. Steve wouldn't call because Steve didn't need Tony. And if he did need Tony, there was no feasible way for him to be there. No way for him to do anything.

So Steve wouldn't call. Tony wouldn't call.

The phone was useless. Dead weight.

Tony sat at Steve's desk and opened the drawer, determined to put this to rest. He glanced at the contents of the drawer, seeing sketchbooks and pencils and pens and paintbrushes. There was the thought in his mind to give this all back. He could track Steve down if he really wanted to, if he really needed to. He could give this all back.

But... what was that?

Tony frowned, setting the phone on top of the desk as he picked the curious item up. It was a small, unassuming box- velvet, he noticed. Tony's mind immediately jumped to an impossible conclusion. That couldn't be. It couldn't be. It  _shouldn't_ be.

_Please, god, don't let this be what I think it is._

Tony opened the box. And it was what he thought it would be.

He felt shockingly numb at the sight of it. He lifted the ring from its cushion and slowly, hesitantly slipped it on. 

The band was smooth, a rose gold studded with rubies around one half. It was gorgeous, everything Tony didn't know he wanted. It fit perfectly, so perfectly, as if it was meant to be right where it was, on Tony's left ring finger. Tony fell in love, and then loudly, so forcefully it came out as a scream of agony, he fell apart.

Tears stained his cheeks as he buried his head in his hands, wrecked sobs escaping him. He hadn't cried, not once, in  _six months._ But, god, Steve wanted to  _marry him._ Steve wanted to marry him six months ago and if they weren't such fucking idiots about something so fucking stupid, Tony could have had that. He could have had  _this._

He curled into himself on the office chair, letting tears fall until he couldn't breathe anymore, until he was lightheaded with dread. He wanted this so badly. He wanted to be in Steve's arms again, wanted to kiss him and touch him and lean on him when he was too exhausted at the end of the day to walk. He wanted to hear Steve laugh. He hadn't heard Steve laugh in six.  _Fucking. Months._

He couldn't take it anymore. He didn't know how much longer he could keep himself sane like this.

Tony grabbed the phone. Tony called Captain America.

 

Ring.

 

Ring.

 

Ring.

 

Click.

 

"... What happened? Are... Are you okay?" Steve asked, voice hoarse from sleep. There was a sense of urgency in his tone, a concern that Tony had forgotten. His  _voice._ Tony loved his voice. He let out another sob, broken and sad and relieved all at once. There was the sound of shifting, presumably as Steve sat up or got comfortable. "Stark, what's-"

"Stop calling me that," Tony snapped, though there wasn't any real bite or malice in his tone. He laughed humorlessly, sniffling before he spoke again. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and quietly said, "I love you."

Steve was going to say  _I love you too._ It was going to be out of habit more than anything. Steve didn't love him, not anymore, not after six months of being apart. 

Steve was quiet for so, so long.

So long that Tony almost hung up.

And then he spoke. "I love you too," he said firmly. He thought about it. He weighed the pros and cons in his head before saying it, Tony knew. But Tony also knew that the cons outweighed the pros.

"And the answer is yes," Tony mumbled. Steve's vulcanesque hearing certainly picked up on it, though. But after six months, he didn't know that there was even a possibility of a proposal being accepted. He'd put it out of his mind.

"The answer...? To what?" Steve's voice sounded clearer now. He must have had a glass of water or cleared his throat when Tony wasn't listening.

"I want to marry you," Tony clarified, his own voice wavering as he spoke. Steve didn't want to marry him, who was he kidding? The silence-  _again with the fucking silence_ - was an obvious indicator.

And then Tony heard it. There was sobbing on the other end of the line too. Well... Good. Tony shouldn't have to be the only one suffering. Immediately, he felt guilty for the thought.

"You didn't even let me ask the question," Steve choked out, and Tony just knew that Steve was as broken as he was. Tony wanted to be his needle and thread. Tony wanted to piece him back together until he was whole again.

"Didn't seem like you were going to," Tony laughed again, more emotions behind it that just sadness. It was complex, had more meanings than even Tony knew what to do with. "Kind of had to take matters into my own hands."

"I didn't think..."

"I know."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"... Okay."

Tony knew they'd have a lot to talk about. He knew they might not last. He knew the engagement might fall apart, or they might get married and get divorced shortly after. There were a million and one reasons not to do this. But there was one reason that stood out the most, and that was that Steve was Tony's home. And Tony was Steve's. They didn't quite fit right, like two pieces of different puzzles that happened to match. But what they had was special, it was theirs. Tony was crying again, with relief and elation and  _love._ He was so absolutely overwhelmed with love.

"Steve, I need you now," he got the words out in between sobs. 

There was shuffling, and when Steve spoke again, it sounded more distant and echoing. Was Tony on speakerphone?

"I'm already packing," Steve assured him. "There are going to be some legal issues, but I think we can handle it."

A smile graced Tony's features, still as broken as before, but different now. Like cracks in a glass vase splintering into something beautiful. He was broken, yes, but in his own put-together way. He giggled quietly, finally saying, "Together?"

And without hesitation, Steve responded, "Together. I'm coming home, Tony. And I'm making breakfast tomorrow morning. Your favorite."

"I love you."

"I love you." 


End file.
